


Dirty Money

by AngelicEclair



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Blowjob under table, F/M, Michael Mando Characters, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24865876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicEclair/pseuds/AngelicEclair
Summary: The Reader is under the table at the restaurant while Nacho is accepting his first payment of the day from a street dealer.
Relationships: Ignacio "Nacho" Varga/Original Female Character(s), Ignacio "Nacho" Varga/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	Dirty Money

El Michoacano was a cartel meeting place where higher-ups would collect money from their street dealers. There was always a cook on the grill, but there were never any customers. It must have gotten bad online reviews, like: "5/10, tacos were excellent, but the cartel presence ruins the whole atmosphere." 

The fans whirred without noise while voices crooned over the radio, and Ignacio "Nacho" Varga waited for his first payment of the day.

Nacho cut an odd character in the wine-red grimness of the underworld. He had adapted, becoming seedy and shifty, but he still had values that he tried to keep close to the chest. He only got wrapped up in the business, in the burning-roses smell of meth smoke in the hopes of securing himself financially before quickly retiring. Despite being a career criminal, he was horrified by the cruelty of his profession. Being ensnared with the Salamanca family promised all things horrific and scarring.

In the beginning, he paid for his apparent reluctance by being mentally excoriated and flayed like a martyr. They made an example out of the wannabe-saint and turned him into an obedient dog who only barked and bit on command. More or less. They had tightened his muzzle to a frightening degree until he prayed to go back before meeting those snot-nosed kids in the schoolyard. He was sick of the click and sizzle of lighters, the slamming of shot glasses, the crackling of aluminum foil, the sound of a syringe clattering on the bathroom floor. He was sick of the permeating smell of ammonia, paint thinner, and ether.

His papá was right. He was better than the so-called friends he surrounded himself with, but he would always be guilty by association. A mouse begins to look surprisingly like a rat when surrounded by nothing but rats.

If only he could go back and discourage that lonely teenage boy from being a halcón* for the cartel. When did things escalate from just being a look-out? How had that little boy been taught to kill?

He tried to banish his conscience and zero-in on the positives. All girls wanted bad guys, but getting involved with a cartel lieutenant was a new breed of 'bad.' The kind of 'bad' that left you in _encobijados*_ *, accompanied by a handwritten _narcomensaje***, or in an_ unmarked desert grave. The women he attracted were usually just looking for their next high or crisp hundred dollar bill. That's why, admittedly, Nacho was always waiting for (Y/N) to expose her true colors. She was a charming young woman, honest and hard-working. Too good to be true, undoubtedly. She was a normal, sweet girl. Fair and tender. The guys at the upholstery shop even called her 'Mazapan.' 

At his core, Ignacio was a remarkably sentimental man, so such a girl made him forget about being a "big, bad gangster." 

Due to her coyness, the guys at the shop would have never guessed her secret in a million years - her ravening sexual appetite. Ignacio often considered taking her home to meet his papá—of course, they had met briefly before, she had dropped off lunch at the upholstery shop a time or two—but she had never been introduced as "girlfriend." But just imagining the look on his poor papá's face after being woken up at three in the morning by the bedsprings creaking rhythmically, its frame thumping into the wall, made him reluctant. 

Ignacio was far from a saint himself. He had an appetite that could rival (Y/N)'s. The two women that lived with him, friends with benefits (mostly one-sided), were witness to the insatiable need spurred on by his frustrations. For a while, they were his blow-up dolls in exchange for drugs and a place to stay. Indifferent, they didn't make a fuss when they realized, even through their meth-addled haze, that he was coming home less and less. He hadn't even touched them in a month. The most contact they shared was when he tossed them each a baggie of personal vice.

Nacho didn't feel at home in his own house anymore, so he would either opt to stay over at his dad's house or with (Y/N). He could be himself there. The real him. The him that he was forced to bury. Nacho longed to go back to being honest. He missed the smell of calfskin and soap. He even missed the sewing room, despite how stuffy it was. His hands were careful and steady, and the work was rather mindless. 

Despite not being hunched over a sewing machine, Nacho felt the same smothering heat he had felt in the sewing room during the summer. It was coming down on all sides as (Y/N)'s fingers curled into his taut thigh muscle. God, he was His heart was pounding like he was navigating a minefield. Being rather reserved, it took a hefty amount of convincing from (Y/N) that everything would be okay. Don Hector was out, his paper-reading table vacant. 

(Y/N) was on the floor, in between Nacho's legs, the sepia tiles grinding her kneecaps to dust. She couldn't help herself. He was shrink-wrapped in black, a leather jacket, gold chain falling below his collarbone, snake earring glimmering on his ear. He was the picture of danger, and it was delicious. 

Unable to wait for another second, she freed his cock and discovered, much to her amusement, that his body had betrayed him. Despite his nerves, he was already getting hard. (Y/N) wound your hand around the velvety shaft firmly. He was neatly trimmed, smooth, long, dark, and cut. She shivered and ran her thumb over the hill of his tip, smearing precum. She began to pump him harshly and began to fully harden, blood pulsing beneath her fingertips.

(Y/N) watched Nacho's facade of indifference slip. His dark eyes lingered on her for a beat too long. She could practically see the gears turning in his head as he studied her, breathing hard. She was blushing up at them like a little expectant angel, gazing at him with a mixture of rapt admiration and dreamy self-absorption. God, she wanted him so badly, expecting absolutely nothing in return. That alone could reduce Nacho to internal delirium. No one had ever just wanted _him_ without expecting some sort of recompense. 

Nacho set his jaw and looked up. It was the first real reaction she had gleaned from him. His body was steeling itself for torture, but his steady gaze remained keen and alert. Hawk-like as he waited for the first dealer of the day. 

His arousal throbbed; he was so hot and swollen. (Y/N) could tell someone was approaching, she heard a car door slam and saw Nacho attempting to brew up a look of stone-cold murder. (Y/N) shivered. He could be so intimidating without saying a single word. Adding to her arousal, she was flooded with intoxication as she breathed in his scent. His own natural, manly smell was mixing with the cologne he was wearing.

A car door slammed, and (Y/N) jumped. A couple of heavy steps later, the front door opened, and a man was slipping inside. (Y/N) could only see his shoes as he approached the first table. There was only the hiss of steam and bubbling grease on the grill, beef being herded across the sizzling plain, accompanied by the clatter of a steel turner. 

"Hey, Nacho."

He didn't reply. Instead, he waved the dealer over to the table. Such interactions were to be kept short and professional. The quicker, the better.

Nacho snapped impatiently, holding out his hand for the wad of cash.

(Y/N) looked up. Ignacio's eyes burned like ice as he stared down the man across the table. The raw intensity sucked the air straight from her lungs. She began pumping his shaft and simultaneously licked the head of his cock, watching his body tighten up, thighs clenching solid as a brick. His Adam's apple bobbed as he fought against his own desire. She stroked his shaft harder and faster, determined to send him toppling over the edge.

The flat of her tongue drug across the swollen head, taste buds creeping from the underside of the bulb and up across the already-wet slit. She wanted to savor the overwhelming warmth emanating from his body and the dizzying smell of his musk for as long as she could. 

Coming undone, Nacho's leg began to bounce from beneath the table.

Heat blasted up her backbone, and she slid her free hand beneath her panties to sate the inferno roaring between her legs. Her pussy was sloppy-wet. She grabbed Ignacio by the base of his cock and slid him into her mouth. She bobbed her head and made sure his shaft ran against the sleekness of the inside of her cheek a few times before meeting her tongue's cleft. Ignacio's eyes were gutting her while she gagged silently. He had been on the receiving end of many, many blowjobs, but (Y/N)'s innocence and enthusiasm was a secret turn-on and made him flounder more helplessly than the most talented of tongues. 

Above, she could hear the crinkling and flipping of bills as he counted the cash. "You're short." Nacho hissed. (Y/N) could see the glaze of sweat beginning on his forehead, shining in the Albuquerque noon.

The dealer was silent for a moment, and (Y/N)'s ministrations slowed. Had he noticed her? The fear of being seen by someone else sent pin-pricks that felt very much like fire ants, crawling up and down her anxious body, compelling her to retreat, but she stayed put.

"I know...I can get it to you in a few days. I just need two...maybe three."

Nacho exhaled shakily from his nose, staring out the window, past the man in front of him.

"Nacho, man, are you feeling okay? You look kinda..."

His glassy eyes flicked to the dealer. 

"Yeah, fantastic. Get it by _tomorrow_."

A string of spittle slid down Nacho's pulsing shaft and hit the floor. The contact from the running saliva alone made him twitch up into the fleshy back of (Y/N)'s mouth. She backed off and licked the dribbling saliva back up to the head.

The dealer stood up and took his leave, his footsteps heavy and quick. The glass door swung back into place. Ignacio's mask of composure slipped away, and his brow knits together. The sound of the engine starting up hid Nacho's groan as his body quivered violently, and his tortured release spurt to the back of (Y/N)'s throat. Her cheeks seared as a big hand forced her head down further, fingers curling against her scalp and pulling lightly. 

She whined softly, swallowing him down before pulling her lips off of his red, angry tip. Nacho let out a long, shaky breath.

"You're gonna get it when we get home."

**Author's Note:**

> *halcón - someone hired to keep watch by drug dealers on the street.  
> **encobijados - crime slang for a dead body wrapped in blankets.  
> ***narcomensaje -a message left by a drug cartel, usually containing threats or explanations of criminal activity.
> 
> I'm planning on writing something else for Nacho that has more plot, but I had to get this idea out of my brain before concentrating on that!


End file.
